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User blog:High Prince Imrahil/Return of Herendil Part 2
Orontor the Smith silently worked his forge in the dying streams of sunset, knowing that it would soon be time to eat his evening meal and go to bed. But suddenly there was a knocking at the door, barely heard over the pounding of metal upon metal. "Firiel!" he shouted, and his daughter appeared at the door to his workshop. Young and fair she was, and she had fiery red hair, quite unusual for a women of Numenorean blood. "Firiel" said Orontor "Could thoust please see who is at the door?" "Of course, father" came her beautiful voice in reply as she walked out of the workshop and towards the front door. Orontor could hear the door open and heard the rumor of whispered words. There was a moment of silence, then footsteps, and Firiel appeared once again at the door to the workshop, this time with two guests. One was in Numenorean armour and the other was in green robes that obscured his face. "Travious!" said Orontor "What brings you here? Doest thoust need a new sword?" "A bit more complicated then that" said Travious, and from the tone in his voice Orontor knew this had to do with the resistance. For although Orontor was a simple smith by day, by night he worked as a leader of the Faithful. Orontor set down his tools reluctantly and walked towards a small wooden table near the back of the workshop. Firiel left the room while the three others sat down to discuss matters of great secrecy. "Why are you here? Who is this one?" said Orontor, gesturing to the man in green robes The man threw back his hood to reveal the face of Herendil, son of Eldacar. "Herendil!" said Orontor in half joy and half terror, leaning close as if the very walls had ears "Why have you come?? You said that you would never return to Numenor! Is something amiss in the North??" for Orontor knew Herendil was still alive; he was one of the men that Herendil took into his confidence before leaving Numenor. "I have come to help the Faithful" said Herendil " Fear not, the North is safe and sound with Thorin Stonehelm being crowned as the new king of the Longbeards. Things, I hear, are not so cheery in Numenor. . ." "You should not have come here!" said Orontor "Numenor is beyond all hope, and you should not risk yourself in any vain efforts to save it." "Nothing is beyond hope" said Herendil "Nothing is impossible. I am sure that in the days of old, the elves of Gondolin and the dwarves of Belgost said that things were beyond all hope in the war against Morgoth, but that was certainly not the case." "This is different!" said Orontor "Though the king does not yet suspect me, it will be not long until they figure out what this humble smith is truly doing - leading the resistance. I am leaving Numenor at nightfall, Herendil, leaving for Peligir. I highly suggest you follow, as most of the remaining Faithful are." "I shall not!" said Herendil "Do what you will, but I myself will fight for Numenor!" Ornotor put his head in his arms. "So be it" he said "But I will not be responsible for your fate, Herendil. If you shall surely stay then I shall leave the leadership of the resistance in your sturdy hands, Herendil, while I retreat to Peligir." Herendil shook Orontor's hand "Fair enough." And Travious and Herendil were out the door without a word. The cool night air chilled Herendil through his thick green robes as they stepped out of the smithy and onto the stone streets of Romenna. A cool sea-breeze blew from the South and made him shiver in the frigid nighttime air. After the meeting with Orontor they were headed to a cheap tavern where they could stay the night without suspicion. The moonlight was all they had to walk by, and even that was lessened greatly by the fell smokes and vapors that rose from the surrounding shipyards and factories. But finally they arrived at a rickety stone building with an old sign reading "The Tipsy Swan Tavern". They were at their destination. Travious and Herendil stepped through the door into a small bar. It smelled foul, and people sipped cheap beer on old wooden chairs. Many were dressed in worn clothing and looked like this tavern was the only home they had. Herendil shook his head sadly. "Bartender!" shouted Travious "I'd like a room, please, whatever's available." The old bartender looked at Travious and was surprised to have a customer with such fine clothing, for even the soldiers rarely visited a place as bad as this. "Right this way, sirs" said the bartender, and he led them up a staircase and to an extremely small room with two cots and a nightstand between. Travious handed him a few golden coins, and the bartender disappeared down the steps. "Wow" said Herendil, marveling how run down the place was "I think we should have told the guards that we were members of the Faithful: Prison would be far less foul then this!" "Oh, shush" said Travious "The king pays absolutely no attention to a place as foul this. Thus we are in no danger of anybody discovering you are, in fact, still alive." Herendil flopped down on one of the cots: it was far too short and his feet hung over the end. "This is going to be a loooong night." Herendil was awoken in the early hours by Travious who looked distressed. "What is it?" asked Herendil "Ornotor!" said Travious "One of my informants just told me: he was captured by some of the king's soldiers on his way to Peligir!" Category:Blog posts